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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/30000564">It's exhausting, frankly</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/PenguinofProse/pseuds/PenguinofProse'>PenguinofProse</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The 100 (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/M, FWB, Friends With Benefits, Lockdown Fic, Pegging, Pining Bellamy, Pining Clarke, Smut, and they were ROOMMATES, but Bellamy pov, lots of smut, pegging as a plot point, quarantine fic, roommates with benefits, smut and feelings, there's a tag I've always wanted to use</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 10:06:12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>18,608</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/30000564</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/PenguinofProse/pseuds/PenguinofProse</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Bellamy and Clarke start hooking up during lockdown and it's totally casual. Obviously it's totally casual. 100% casual with no feelings to see here.</p><p>The amount of effort they're both putting into their sex life - and home life - is just a coincidence, because of course it is.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>182</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>It's exhausting, frankly</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/OnlyZouzou/gifts">OnlyZouzou</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Here's a fic for Zou even though it's not her birthday yet. Happy future birthday! I guess now I'll have to write you an actual birthday fic.</p><p>This fic is just two besties and roommates having sex a lot. You have been warned. Please observe the tags and go find something more to your tastes if gratuitous smut is not what you like to read.</p><p>Content note: this fic has a lot of references to the 2020-21 coronavirus pandemic. No direct references to covid deaths.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It is Clarke's idea to begin with.</p><p> </p><p>Of course it is Clarke's idea, Bellamy muses, a little sour. Everything has to be Clarke's idea, doesn't it? And he gets it, really he does. He understands that she has some emotional baggage, that she is not capable of becoming involved with anyone except on her own terms.</p><p> </p><p>But all the same, loving Clarke is exhausting, frankly.</p><p> </p><p>She asks it out of the blue. It's a Tuesday afternoon, three weeks into lockdown. They're sitting on the couch together, both pretending to watch a movie they have already seen a thousand times. Bellamy, for his part, is staring into space and reflecting that he is already bored out of his mind, desperate for the library to reopen so he can go back to work. Clarke is slumped back against the couch cushions, eyes closed, and Bellamy presumes she's taking a nap. It's an exhausting time to be a doctor, he knows, and he feels bad that he cannot offer her anything more interesting or lively to pass the time on her precious afternoon off.</p><p> </p><p>But then, all at once, her eyes are open and she's fixing him with a decisive stare.</p><p> </p><p>“Do you want to hook up?” She asks.</p><p> </p><p>He gulps, blinks rapidly. Does he want to hook up? Is that a general question? Yes, thanks, he wouldn't mind a quick screw – he's not exactly managed to go out on the town and get busy with any strangers since lockdown started. Or is she asking whether he wants to hook up with <em> her </em>?</p><p> </p><p>Yes. A thousand times yes. And yet there is some nervous part of him screaming <em> no </em> at the top of his voice.</p><p> </p><p>“Why do you ask?” He tries, attempting to get a feel for what exactly is going on, here.</p><p> </p><p>She shrugs – slightly too careful, he thinks. He knows his best friend and room mate rather well, thank you.</p><p> </p><p>“Just something I saw at work today. Some new public health guidance about sexual relationships in the pandemic. They're putting out this information leaflet and everything to tell people that the safest sex to have during this time is with yourself or the people you live with.” She tells him, laughter bubbling in her throat – but <em> nervous </em> laughter, he's pretty sure.</p><p> </p><p>“Well, my wanking game is pretty strong these last three weeks.” He jokes. He thinks it's maybe been <em> too </em> strong, actually. There's not a lot else to do while he's home alone and Clarke's out at work.</p><p> </p><p>She laughs a little too neatly at his joke, then presses on. “So what do you think? You want to try hooking up while neither of us can hook up with anyone else?”</p><p> </p><p>“Sure.” He says, before he has thought it through. Before he has realised how horrifically wrong this could go, how much it is likely to hurt his heart.</p><p> </p><p>That's typical of him, isn't it? A chance to get close to Clarke, so he's jumping in headfirst without stopping to consider the situation. It's just like when she suggested they move in together, and he didn't take account of how tough it would be to watch her wandering around in her towel on the way out of the shower each morning.</p><p> </p><p>“Great. You want to try now?” She asks at once.</p><p> </p><p>He gulps. He wasn't thinking <em> now</em>. He distinctly remembers wishing he could throw together a more <em> lively </em> afternoon's entertainment, but that wasn't quite what he had in mind. They can't try <em> now</em>. He's wearing a really threadbare pair of boxers and he hasn't worked out in three weeks. If they try now, she'll choose the option of having sex with herself for the rest of lockdown, he's pretty sure.</p><p> </p><p>“You want to finish the movie first?” He asks, stalling for time. “Or maybe I should take a shower? Or I can make us some supper and then we try tonight?”</p><p> </p><p>She turns to him, rolls her eyes affectionately. “Bellamy. Neither of us is watching the movie. And you don't need to take a shower. I've lived with you for two years. I've seen you sweatier than this before now.”</p><p> </p><p>He swallows. That's true, but it's not <em> flattering</em>, is it? He knows what's going on here. He knows she's only suggesting they sleep together because she cannot in all good conscience as a doctor reject the public guidance and go hook up with Niylah or some other friend. He's her only choice, basically an animate sex toy, and so of course she doesn't care if he's a little clammy from sitting on the couch all afternoon.</p><p> </p><p>But all the same, this is not what he wanted. This is not what he dreamed of, when he wished to take Clarke to his bed one day.</p><p> </p><p>He makes the best of it. He pastes onto his face that smooth smirk he wears when he's picking up guys and girls in bars, stands up off the couch and dusts imaginary crumbs from his lap.</p><p> </p><p>God. This is <em> so </em> not how he pictured it.</p><p> </p><p>He reaches out a hand to Clarke. She turns off the movie, because of course she cannot walk carelessly out of the room and leave it playing. She takes his hand, holding tight to his fingers, pulls herself up to her feet and looks him right in the eye.</p><p> </p><p>OK, maybe this is <em> a little </em> like how he pictured it. Quite against his expectations, it still has the most important parts of his fantasies. Clarke holding tight to him as if she never wants to let him go. Clarke looking at him like he's <em> everything</em>, like she cannot wait to jump his bones.</p><p> </p><p>Clarke. Clarke. <em> Clarke</em>.</p><p> </p><p>“What's the worst that can happen?” She asks him quietly, breath fanning over his lips. “I won't let this get awkward if it goes horribly. You're too important to me.”</p><p> </p><p>“You too.” He says easily, taking courage from her heartfelt words.</p><p> </p><p>It's what he needed to hear. And she's what he needed to <em> see</em>, too, eyelashes fluttering as she peers up at him a little coyly.</p><p> </p><p>He takes the plunge. He leans in, eyes shut tight with nerves, as he kisses the best friend he's so hopelessly in love with.</p><p> </p><p>She kisses him back. Obviously she does – she's the one who suggested they should hook up. But she kisses him back harder than he expected, with much more urgency. She kisses him like she actually <em> wants </em> to taste him, rather than this being simply a means to an end.</p><p> </p><p>In other words, he reminds himself firmly, she's great at casual sex. Isn't that what a harmless hookup is all about – making a partner feel special, even if just for a little while?</p><p> </p><p>That's all this is, and he'll only be heartbroken if he allows himself to forget it.</p><p> </p><p>“My room?” He asks, whispering against her lips.</p><p> </p><p>“Sure.”</p><p> </p><p>He picks her up. He knows that's probably rather foolish, considering the circumstances. But he tells himself this is only what she was doing for him just now – he's just making his partner feel special, just for this fleeting moment. That's the secret of great quality casual sex.</p><p> </p><p>Clarke never has to know he would make her feel special <em> forever</em>, if only she would let him.</p><p> </p><p>She seems to like being carried. She wraps her arms tight around his neck, her legs around his waist. She's kissing a line down his neck as he carries her, burrowing beneath his T shirt to kiss his collarbone when she runs out of exposed skin. It's driving him wild, but he tries to keep his focus on carrying her carefully down the hall and to his bed.</p><p> </p><p>His bed is unmade. Of course his bed is unmade – that's how pandemics and feeling purposeless work, he's pretty sure. He's certain there's not a workless librarian in the country who made their bed this morning. But all the same, he sets Clarke down amongst the rumpled bedclothes and hopes there aren't too many obvious stains from the lonely handjob he gave himself last night.</p><p> </p><p>He goes to undress her, next, hooking his fingers in the waistband of her leggings. But she brushes him aside, laughing, and tugs her own clothes out of the way.</p><p> </p><p>“Come on. We don't need to be like that. Let's just get to the good part.” She suggests.</p><p> </p><p>He's a little hurt. He thinks undressing each other could be <em> the good part</em>, actually, if this were a different occasion. But he understands her point, so he lets her take the lead.</p><p> </p><p>And then he starts feeling rather better, actually, when it turns out Clarke is wearing worn cotton panties in a sort of tired flesh colour beneath her leggings. It turns out he's not the only one here who's a little underdressed for the occasion. It has become easy to put Clarke on a pedestal, after all these years of his pathetic crush. There's something utterly heartwarming about realising that she's only human and that she won't be judging him for his boxers or sweatpants, either.</p><p> </p><p>After all – who the hell dresses up in lockdown?</p><p> </p><p>He shrugs his clothes off quickly, now keen to get onto <em> the good part </em> as Clarke has promised.</p><p> </p><p>It lives up to that hype – and exceeds it. This isn't <em> good</em>, Bellamy decides, as he and Clarke start kissing and running their hands over each other's naked bodies. It's <em> incredible</em>.</p><p> </p><p>He reminds himself not to get carried away, though. Not to enjoy himself too much, and above all not to get selfish.</p><p> </p><p>“Can I go down on you?” He asks quietly.</p><p> </p><p>She frowns. “You don't need to. I wasn't trying to pressure you into doing anything like that. I just wanted to give us both chance to get laid.”</p><p> </p><p>“I want to.” He says simply. “Come on, Clarke. I think it's over a month since I last ate pussy. Gotta give a guy a break.” He jokes.</p><p> </p><p>“I mean – yeah. If you actually want to.” She says, audibly eager.</p><p> </p><p>He nods, grinning, presses another firm kiss to her lips. But then he's gone, scooting down the bed to get himself into position.</p><p> </p><p>It's a funny business. He has women in this bed pretty frequently, gives oral more often than not. He's got a finely honed routine when he picks up a partner for a quick screw. He thinks that there is even a slight dent in the mattress where he normally lies with his face between their legs, honestly.</p><p> </p><p>But he can't quite find the right position today. Maybe it's nervousness, because this is Clarke, and because this actually <em> matters </em> to him a hell of a lot more than any other oral he has ever given before. Or maybe it's because she's so much shorter than his usual conquests. There's a reason he usually goes for leggy brunettes when it comes to women – it seems safer, after that time he accidentally called blonde Bree <em> Clarke </em> in the midst of passion and had to listen pathetically at the wall to check Clarke herself had not heard his mistake.</p><p> </p><p>“You OK there?” Clarke asks pointedly, looking down at him.</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, sorry. Just getting comfy.” He tells her lightly.</p><p> </p><p>She smiles, a little too understanding. “It's fine. Like I said – you don't have to. But whatever we do, I'm sure we'll have fun.”</p><p> </p><p>He nods. However this turns out, it will easily be the most fun she's had in bed in weeks. When he looks at it that way, he feels rather confident. And when he considers, too, that she's <em> Clarke – </em> and that ought to be a source of comfort and confidence as well as nerves. Yes, sure, getting this right is important to him. But she's his best friend. They're inseparable. Even if he screws this up, it's going to take more than some clumsy oral to break the bond between them.</p><p> </p><p>That decided, he finds that he is feeling rather bolder and ready to get to work. He gets his mouth on her, feels her gasp instantly in response. Is that a good thing? He's not sure. He reaches up towards her with his hands, one finding a breast, one finding her fingers and holding tight.</p><p> </p><p>Yes. That was a good gasp. She's pushing her hips up towards his face, already seeking more.</p><p> </p><p>He gives it to her. He starts working more purposefully with his tongue, massages that breast with his hand at the same time. She likes that, arching up into his hand, so he tries to pull his other hand away to join the party.</p><p> </p><p>No. She's not having that. She clings ever tighter to his fingers.</p><p> </p><p>“No. It's good. Like holding you.” She gasps.</p><p> </p><p>He nods against her, draws out a delicious moan. That wasn't intentional but he likes it, so he tries again, shaking his head slightly and revelling in the way her hips twitch with his teasing.</p><p> </p><p>Then she stops him in his tracks. She clamps her thighs around his head, and it's <em> incredible</em>.</p><p> </p><p>He always dreamed of getting a reaction like this out of Clarke. Of her holding him tight, driven crazy with pleasure, and wordlessly begging him for more. It has him rock hard even though his cock has barely been touched, so far. He's reduced to rubbing his erection against the edge of the mattress, desperate for what little stimulation he can get from the rough seam there. He needs more. He needs his cock warm and wet, needs confident arms holding him tightly.</p><p> </p><p>He needs <em> Clarke</em>.</p><p> </p><p>He wonders if she can read his thoughts. It's uncanny, really. He's there, vainly humping his own bed, desperate for a helping hand. And then all at once she's dragging her legs from around his head, tugging at his hair and gasping out a few precious words.</p><p> </p><p>“Need you up here.” She tells him. “It's so good. But – I want to come around your cock, not your face.”</p><p> </p><p>She can do both. That's what he ought to tell her. He ought to be generous and selfless and tell her that she can have her oral first, then he'll make sure to get her a second orgasm too – even if it takes the rest of the day and half of the next.</p><p> </p><p>But he doesn't tell her that. He's been waiting <em> years </em> to hear Clarke say that she wants to come around his cock. So it is that he simply abandons her pussy and rushes up the bed to start kissing her deeply once again. He reaches for a condom from beside the bed even while he's kissing her, rips the packet by feel without ever looking up at all.</p><p> </p><p>He does pull away to put it on, though. Just for a few seconds. Even in the heat of the moment, he knows this is something well worth getting right.</p><p> </p><p>“You taste like me.” Clarke tells him, sounding rather dazed.</p><p> </p><p>“What did you expect?” He teases.</p><p> </p><p>She flushes, shrugs. “It was hot. That's all.”</p><p> </p><p>He grins. She thinks it's hot when he tastes like her. That's pretty cool, isn't it?</p><p> </p><p>The condom is in place, now. He doesn't waste a second longer. He gets lined up, slips inside of her easily with a little wet squelching sound. It's a noise that makes his cock throb all over again, pathetic though that might be. That's all for him. She's wet from his mouth, sure, but also from how worked up he got her.</p><p> </p><p>“Does that feel better than the mattress?” She asks pertly.</p><p> </p><p>He gives a strained chuckle. “Yeah. Feels so good.”</p><p> </p><p>“Great. Then <em> get on with it</em>.” She demands – or possibly begs.</p><p> </p><p>He gives her what she wants. He always does, if he possibly can. And he certainly has something to offer her on this occasion, it seems like. She's clearly having a good time, her hips rocking up to meet his.</p><p> </p><p>No – <em> rocking </em> is an understatement. There's definitely more than that going on, now. She's pushing right up off the bed to get him as deep inside as possible, and it's almost more than he can bear.</p><p> </p><p>He can't come too soon. He mustn't. He has his dignity, and he wants to show her a good time. He clings desperately to the hope that she'll get there first. He did get her pretty warmed up with his mouth just now. Maybe she doesn't have far left to go.</p><p> </p><p>Maybe he should just ask her.</p><p> </p><p>“You OK?” He tries, brief and breathy.</p><p> </p><p>“So good.” She groans into a kiss, open-mouthed and messy. “I'm close.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah? That's a shame.” He teases, stopping dead.</p><p> </p><p>She laughs, slaps him roundly on the butt. “I should have known you'd be like this.” She pants.</p><p> </p><p>“Like what?” He asks, still motionless. The pause is good, actually. It's helped him put the breaks on just a little, makes him feel less like he's about to spill inside her too soon.</p><p> </p><p>“Teasing. Cocky. <em> Too good</em>.”</p><p> </p><p>He gasps. <em> Too good</em>. What does that even mean? Too good at fucking her? Too good in his character, in his attitude?</p><p> </p><p>Surely she doesn't think he's too good for her?</p><p> </p><p>No. It's a stupid thought. They're best friends – she knows that they are a perfect match for each other in that way at least, even if she doesn't think they are so perfectly suited in other respects. And anyway, maybe this could be his chance to show her they can be good together like this, too, if only he plays his cards right.</p><p> </p><p>Meanwhile, Clarke is slapping his butt again. He groans.</p><p> </p><p>“You like that?” She asks, doing it once more for good measure.</p><p> </p><p>He kisses her roughly. He's not sure whether he likes the slapping, or whether he just likes Clarke. He thinks it's more likely the latter. But he thinks there's something rather fun about the way they are playing with the give and take of power, here. He likes the way that he teases her, and she gives him a sweet little slap in return. It feels a lot like the friendly way they bicker in the kitchen or over the remote – but with <em> touching</em>.</p><p> </p><p>He takes her hint, now. The pause has been long enough. He gets moving, faster than before, trying to resist the urge to chase his own orgasm. He has to get Clarke there first. He has to show her they can be good together.</p><p> </p><p>He manages it. She's there, pulsing around his cock. She's kissing him deep and slow as she comes, more pressing her lips into his than truly tasting. It's more than he can handle and he follows just a few seconds behind, hips shuddering, a groan rising from his throat quite without his permission.</p><p> </p><p>There is silence when they're done. Perfect silence marred only by the sound of their messy breathing, and by the clock that ticks on his bedside table and reminds him that out there, beyond this bedroom, the world goes on turning.</p><p> </p><p>The world goes on turning, even though he just fucked his best friend.</p><p> </p><p>“You doing alright?” He asks softly. He forces himself to pull away, too, and to get rid of the condom. He tosses it towards the bin and hopes it hits. No way is he leaving this bed right now – Clarke has not run screaming out of here yet, and so he is determined to stay and make the most of the moment.</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah. Thanks. That was great.” She pauses, sucks in a loud breath. “Do you think maybe – could this work? Can we try doing this again while lockdown lasts?”</p><p> </p><p>“I'd like that. I had a really good time.” He hedges. He tries to match her tone and words – clearly positive about the experience, but not overly enthusiastic. Somewhat guarded, perhaps.</p><p> </p><p>“Great.”</p><p> </p><p>Silence sits a little longer. They lie there, sort of cuddling loosely. The clock goes on ticking.</p><p> </p><p>“What's that you were saying about cooking supper?” Clarke asks, a fraction too bright and teasing.</p><p> </p><p>He takes her hint, sits up, starts wondering where his clothes are. “Sure. I can go get started on supper.”</p><p> </p><p>She nods. Then she seems to change her mind, shaking her head instead.</p><p> </p><p>“Actually – do you want me to get take out?” She asks. “My treat.”</p><p> </p><p>He snorts. “You don't have to buy thank you take out every time I go down on you for a couple of minutes. I mean it – that was fun and we should do it again sometime.”</p><p> </p><p>She nods and smiles, apparently relieved. “Great. Good. But – do you want take out anyway? We can maybe rent a movie we haven't watched before?”</p><p> </p><p>He almost gasps out loud, manages to stifle it just in time. Sensible, pragmatic Clarke Griffin, suggesting they spend a little actual <em> money </em> on renting an online movie and making a treat out of their meal?</p><p> </p><p>He wonders if he's allowed to kiss and cuddle her while they watch their movie, or whether this new arrangement exists only within the walls of the bedroom.</p><p> </p><p>…....</p><p> </p><p>He doesn't kiss or cuddle her while they watch. He's very good, in fact. He behaves most sensibly, eats his pad Thai with a whole six inches between his hip and Clarke's. He watches the movie with painstaking care – it's one of those new superhero ones that is trying to be feminist, but doesn't seem to have entirely understood what feminism is.</p><p> </p><p>It's entertaining enough, he supposes. He's not wholeheartedly concentrating on the plot if he's being honest. He's rather busy focussing on not snogging Clarke senseless.</p><p> </p><p>He finishes his food first. He's annoyed about that. He now has the best part of two hours to sit here with his hands infuriatingly <em> spare </em> and try not to do anything terribly wrong.</p><p> </p><p>He stares hard at the screen. There's a superhero – or should that be <em> superheroine</em>? There's some fiery explosions, for no apparent reason. There's -</p><p> </p><p>There's Clarke, leaning into his shoulder, curling her legs up by her side, tossing her take-out container onto the table with a carelessness that surprises him.</p><p> </p><p>“You OK? Enjoying the movie?” She whispers, wrapping a hand around his bicep, of all things, and squeezing lightly.</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah. It's fun.” He says. <em> Fun </em> is a safe choice of word, right? Superhero movies are supposed to be fun.</p><p> </p><p>“It is.” Clarke agrees, as if only just realising that might be the truth. “You want some ice cream?”</p><p> </p><p>He's struggling to keep up here. He really is. This is, in so many ways, the kind of conversation he has with Clarke all the time – watching a movie on the couch and trying to decide whether to eat ice cream. But she doesn't usually sound so distracted, isn't usually curled so close.</p><p> </p><p>She isn't usually holding his damn <em> bicep</em>.</p><p> </p><p>“Ice cream could be good. You want me to go get it?”</p><p> </p><p>“Thanks. There's half a tub of cookie dough in the top drawer. Just bring two spoons.”</p><p> </p><p><em> Just bring two spoons</em>. That's another thing careful, straight-laced Clarke would not usually suggest, he thinks.</p><p> </p><p>He considers the situation, as he potters around the kitchen trying to find some clean spoons. Clarke doesn't act senselessly. Even under pressure, she is good at remaining calm and thinking things through – she's a doctor, isn't she? So it seems very unlikely that she's behaving oddly at random. She must have some kind of plan he has not understood.</p><p> </p><p>He's found some spoons, now. He taps them absently against his thigh as he searches the top drawer of the freezer for that ice cream and wonders what Clarke is up to. Suggesting some kind of friendly sex arrangement. A spontaneous evening of food and a fun movie. Sharing ice cream out of the tub. These things are all linked, aren't they?</p><p> </p><p>She's trying to get close to him. That's what the ice cream and the bicep cuddle were about, he realises. Some attempt at casual intimacy – presumably the chilled film is part of that, too. Why, then? Is she trying to ask him to sleep with her again tonight? Knowing Clarke as well as he does, he thinks that's the most likely explanation for her behaviour.</p><p> </p><p>Wow. So she really enjoyed it that much? She did seem pretty happy afterwards, he recalls. Or maybe she's just been in a long dry spell? It must be over a month, he thinks, since she last brought Niylah home. Maybe even six weeks, now he's counting.</p><p> </p><p>He heads back to the living room, ice cream in hand. He reaches an arm around Clarke as he sits down, and they arrange themselves with spoons and cookie dough while she presses play on the movie once again.</p><p> </p><p>Bellamy gathers his courage. Only explosions on screen at the moment. He won't be interrupting anything important if he speaks now.</p><p> </p><p>“How does this friends with benefits thing work?” He asks, light, as if the question has only just occurred to him. “How often were you thinking we'd hook up?”</p><p> </p><p>She tenses a little, swallows her next bite of ice cream slowly. “Not sure. However often you want, I guess.”</p><p> </p><p>He laughs. “As often as I want? Take care, Clarke. You don't know what you're saying.”</p><p> </p><p>She takes it as a joke. He thinks that's a good thing. Probably. Maybe. He doesn't <em> want </em> her to know he'd take her to bed twice a day minimum if he thought she'd be up for it, does he?</p><p> </p><p>Maybe he does, just a little bit. He dreams of her wanting that, too.</p><p> </p><p>“I haven't exactly planned it.” She says, which he suspects is a lie. “I guess – a few times a week? Maybe? Or if we're in the mood we just ask and be honest with each other?”</p><p> </p><p>He almost laughs. She's not being very open and honest with him right now, is she? She's cuddling him and sharing ice cream with him and leaving him to ask the questions. He's surprised by it, honestly. He doesn't think of her as a coward, and he knows she likes to have relationships on her terms since that mess with Finn ended so badly.</p><p> </p><p>Maybe it's because she doesn't want to ruin their friendship, or something.</p><p> </p><p>“OK. You're right – we should just say. So – I could be in the mood again tonight, if you're interested.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah. Sure. Why not?” She offers, carefully casual.</p><p> </p><p>He rather thinks her hand tensing on his bicep says otherwise, though.</p><p> </p><p>…....</p><p> </p><p>They manage to fall into a rather functional pattern after that. Of course they do – they're best friends. A little bit of casual sex is not going to ruin them.</p><p> </p><p>They hook up most evenings that Clarke isn't working horrific hours. It's good – they tend to watch some TV together – although sitting carefully apart – and one or other of them will ask the question, and later that night they'll head to his room, or to hers, or even one time just fuck slowly on the couch. It's something about their daily routine that becomes unremarkable in the best possible way.</p><p> </p><p>Bellamy isn't sure what he makes of it. The sex is <em> incredible</em>. Obviously it's incredible – this is Clarke, and he's been in love with her for years. They communicate as well inside the bedroom as they do outside it, and it turns out they're really very good at getting each other off.</p><p> </p><p>But it's too... <em> routine</em>, somehow. He's still just living with his best friend and roommate, only now they end most days with a quick screw, too. It's not as fulfilling as he always thought it would be. It's not that he wishes they were doing anything particularly wild or kinky in the bedroom – although he does have some ideas in that department if ever Clarke should ask.</p><p> </p><p>It's more that he wants <em> intimacy</em>. Even the cuddles on the couch that first night were better, in that respect, than the businesslike way they have propositioned each other since then. It's an odd contrast – the cold pragmatism as they issue the invitation, but then the tender sex. It's such a paradox he can't get his head round it.</p><p> </p><p>And he wants them to be <em> excited</em>. He wants to feel like Clarke is actually looking forward to being in his bed, rather than just using him as a glorified sex toy, a tool for an orgasm.</p><p> </p><p>A means to an end.</p><p> </p><p>It's not that there's anything lacking in the way she treats him during the sex itself – she's incredibly affectionate and generous and eager. It's more the way that she only treats him as someone she wants to sleep with for one hour each day, right before bedtime.</p><p> </p><p>She hasn't even asked to share ice cream with him again, and it <em> sucks</em>. He stocked the freezer with four tubs of the stuff when he bought groceries last week, and they're tragically untouched. That'll teach his silly optimistic heart a lesson, won't it? Stupid and naïve of him to go fill the freezer with ice cream just because they snuggled one time.</p><p> </p><p>Or maybe it won't teach his heart a lesson after all – he does seem quite slow at learning from his overeager mistakes, where Clarke is concerned.</p><p> </p><p>If this were any other kind of relationship, he'd do something about his dissatisfaction. He'd take the lead – that's what he does with casual hookups, with longer term partners, even with most of his friends. But this is Clarke. Relationships on her terms only, remember?</p><p> </p><p>He tries to take a leaf out of her book. On her next day off, he suggests they watch a movie after lunch. He goes to fetch ice cream, and returns with a tub and two spoons. He sits down, offers her a spoon and a tentative smile.</p><p> </p><p>It works. She gets it. She leans into his side, already tucking her feet up on the couch.</p><p> </p><p>He hits play. He eats a bite of ice cream. He counts to twenty, because he figures he should probably not look too eager to ask this question.</p><p> </p><p>“Hey – you in the mood to head to the bedroom after this?” He asks, as if the thought has only just occurred to him.</p><p> </p><p>“What? At four in the afternoon?” He can't tell whether she sounds more surprised or curious.</p><p> </p><p>He presses on. “Why not? It was quite fun that first time, right? And it's not like there's much else to do in lockdown.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah. Good point.”</p><p> </p><p>She sits, wordless, eating her ice cream. He thinks that was a yes. Was that a yes? It seemed more like a yes than a no, right? It seemed like -</p><p> </p><p>“You want to go now?” Clarke asks suddenly.</p><p> </p><p>“What?”</p><p> </p><p>“Now. We could go fuck now. We haven't really gotten into the movie yet, right?”</p><p> </p><p>That is true. It's been playing for a grand total of two minutes. Is she honestly suggesting that they drop everything and fuck<em> now</em>?</p><p> </p><p>Wow. That turned out better than he expected.</p><p> </p><p>“Sure. Now is good. Bedroom? Or here?”</p><p> </p><p>“My room. I've got a plan.” She says at once, jumping to her feet, tugging at his arm. “Come on. We should put the ice cream back in the freezer.”</p><p> </p><p>He laughs a little. He can't help it. Of course they have to put the ice cream back in the freezer – logistical questions must always be the priority, with Clarke. It seems, though, that getting laid is something of a priority for her in this moment, too. She's pretty eager to get into the bedroom. <em> Excited</em>, even. Isn't that what he was craving? For her to look excited about the possibility of sleeping with him?</p><p> </p><p>“What's this plan of yours?” He asks as they leave the kitchen once more.</p><p> </p><p>She flushes. “It's not much of a plan. I just got as far as I want to get on top of you and hold onto these.” She says, squeezing his bicep as if it is an old friend.</p><p> </p><p>He stands a little straighter. She likes his arms that much? He might have noticed that, he thinks wryly, if only she'd actually cuddle him on the couch more often. But he's not complaining, in this moment, as she grips at his arm like she'll never let go.</p><p> </p><p>She still seems eager and excited when they arrive at their destination. She strips his clothes off quickly, presses a few kisses to his chest and neck and lips as she goes. He takes her hint, undresses her swiftly in turn.</p><p> </p><p>This is more like it, he finds himself thinking. This makes him feel like she wants to sleep with him, not just like she wants to sleep with <em> someone</em>.</p><p> </p><p>He finds himself wondering rather suddenly whether he's ever made her feel that way in return.</p><p> </p><p>Huh. Maybe he ought to see what he can do about that.</p><p> </p><p>“Cute bra.” He comments lightly.</p><p> </p><p>She looks stunned. Genuinely and absolutely <em> stunned</em>. He's not sure why – it objectively is a cute bra. It's pink and lacy and frames her ample breasts rather sweetly.</p><p> </p><p>He tries harder. He wants her to understand he's excited about <em> her</em>, not just her underwear.</p><p> </p><p>“Your tits look great in it.” He offers. It's inane, but it's a start. It's on a par with wanting to get her hands on his arms, he hopes.</p><p> </p><p>“Thanks. Maybe I should dress up on a Thursday afternoon more often.” She jokes.</p><p> </p><p>He grins. “Could be fun.”</p><p> </p><p>She flushes even pinker, bites her lip for a moment. And then she seems to decide they have stood here, flustered and awkward, for long enough. She steers him straight towards the bed. He lies down and gets a condom on – because he knows where his best friend keeps her condom stash, these days. Bedside draw, for the record. It's the kind of intimate fragment of knowledge he treasures, since they started sleeping together. Sort of like the fact he knows she has a little mole on her hip, too.</p><p> </p><p>He's barely got the condom rolled down over his cock before Clarke is in place, sitting astride him, lowering herself onto the length of him with a moan.</p><p> </p><p>Yes. <em> Excited</em>. This is good.</p><p> </p><p>He takes her bra off without further ceremony. He should have done that earlier, perhaps. But he was too busy learning how to clumsily compliment her for that. He tosses the pink lace aside, watches her breasts fall heavily onto her chest.</p><p> </p><p>He could swear he will never get tired of watching her.</p><p> </p><p>She does as she promised. She grips tight to his upper arms, uses that leverage to start riding his cock. He's not quite happy with that, though. He needs to reach up and fondle her breasts. He manages it, simply moves and lets her follow with her hands, until they are both holding each other as they so desperately want to do.</p><p> </p><p>He wonders what this must look like, from across the room. If someone were to make a porn film of this, or if he were to one day convince Clarke to take a cheeky bedroom photo with him. God, that would be hot. But he fears they might look a little silly here like this, him groping her tits, her grasping his arms.</p><p> </p><p>It doesn't matter. They're happy, they're feeling pleasure. That's all that counts.</p><p> </p><p>But for the record, he really would like to get that cheeky photo, one day.</p><p> </p><p>Clarke's pretty close, now. He's got to know her body language and her noises pretty well, this last week. He can tell from the way she has her head thrown back, her lip caught between her teeth, and from the way she's moaning low and loud. He's getting off on that in turn, because he always loves to watch her teeter on the brink.</p><p> </p><p>There's just one thing he's a little disappointed about, though. She hasn't been very chatty today. They've been so eager and urgent that they haven't spoken much along the way.</p><p> </p><p>He tries to fix it.</p><p> </p><p>“Good view.” He comments lightly.</p><p> </p><p>She gives a strangled laugh, squeezes his arm a little tighter.</p><p> </p><p>“Love watching your face.” He admits, in a dangerous moment of honesty. “You have the most beautiful sex face.”</p><p> </p><p>She gasps, loud and sudden, ducks her head to meet his eyes. “I do?”</p><p> </p><p>He takes her hint. “Yeah. So hot. Love watching you come, Clarke.”</p><p> </p><p>That's it. That sends her tumbling over the edge, groaning a loud groan – and pulling the most beautiful face, as it happens.</p><p> </p><p>To be fair, he thinks her face is <em> always </em> beautiful. But he senses it's probably best if he doesn't mention that. Describing her sex face as hot is pretty neutral, right? That's just bedroom talk. It doesn't have to mean anything.</p><p> </p><p>He hopes she takes it that way, anyway. He doesn't want to scare her off, send her running out of his life.</p><p> </p><p>That brief, anxious spiral is not doing anything for his sexual performance. Obviously it isn't. He's wound tight as a spring, now, but not in a good way. He's desperate to come but he's also got himself worked up and worried that this is going to go wrong. That Clarke is going to realise his feelings and flee.</p><p> </p><p>“Thanks, Bellamy.” Clarke whispers, still rocking her hips. “That was perfect. You want me to stay like this? Or do you want to flip me over?”</p><p> </p><p>That calms him down a lot. Clarke is still here, and still wants to sleep with him and live with him. He hasn't ruined anything yet.</p><p> </p><p>“Stay there.” He begs. “I'm close.”</p><p> </p><p>“OK.” She rocks her hips a little faster, slightly more purposeful. “Your sex face is great too, you know?”</p><p> </p><p>He laughs breathlessly. She's just returning the compliment to be polite, right? And <em> great </em> is not exactly <em> beautiful</em>, anyway.</p><p> </p><p>She doesn't talk any more. She keeps that brisk rhythm with her hips, moves her hands to start exploring over his chest and stomach. It's unexpected, but in a good way. It makes him feel pretty special, that she wants to check him out like this.</p><p> </p><p>He comes just as she starts rubbing her fingertips against his abs. It's the strangest thing, honestly. No one has ever done that before.</p><p> </p><p>Oh god. It's not because he's put on weight, is it? They've been in lockdown a month. The gyms are all closed, and he's been eating take out with Clarke whenever she invites him to.</p><p> </p><p>He finds himself rather distracted, all of a sudden, by Clarke's lips colliding with his in a messy kiss.</p><p> </p><p>He kisses her back. He's enjoying this kiss, but he's a little bemused, too. Aren't they done now? Did he miss the memo where they were starting over again?</p><p> </p><p>They are done, it seems. Clarke pulls back after a couple of minutes, smiling broadly.</p><p> </p><p>“That was a good idea. We should have afternoon sex more often.” She suggests.</p><p> </p><p>“Sounds great. Next time you have a day off?”</p><p> </p><p>She doesn't bat an eyelid at his eagerness. She just nods, smiling even bigger, and swings her leg back over his hips to hop out of bed.</p><p> </p><p>…....</p><p> </p><p>Bellamy starts working out the very next morning.</p><p> </p><p>He gets up when he hears Clarke leave for the hospital. He puts on shorts and a running vest, and improvises as best as he can in the living room with some bodyweight routine he finds on the internet. It's not the same as weights in the gym, of course. But it's better than nothing.</p><p> </p><p>He doesn't spend too long analysing the fact that he suddenly feels motivated to work out again the morning after Clarke decided to tell him she likes his arms and his sex face. That way lies madness, he's pretty sure. And anyway, he's not <em> just </em> working out for Clarke. It's not a simple cause and effect where he's working out to look good for her.</p><p> </p><p>It's more that he feels like working out, this morning, for the first time since lockdown began. He feels good and confident in himself, and wants to keep himself strong and healthy. And yes, sure, it doesn't hurt that Clarke might find him at least a little attractive. But he's doing this for himself, not for her.</p><p> </p><p>He's perhaps doing this for himself because she's given him the energy to do it, he decides.</p><p> </p><p>Yes. That's the best way of putting it. He has something good in his life, something to break up the monotony of lockdown. That in turn gives him a bit of motivation to work out. And when he's done here, and he's showered, he thinks he might look for something else to do besides watching TV and waiting for Clarke to get home. Could he cook a nice meal for when she gets in this evening, perhaps?</p><p> </p><p>Maybe a couple of months shut up in his home won't be so bad after all.</p><p> </p><p>…....</p><p> </p><p>He and Clarke have been hooking up a couple of weeks when the first of their friends finds out. It's Miller – of course it's Miller. The one friend who Bellamy can depend upon to tease him relentlessly about his distinct lack of <em> game </em> where Clarke is concerned.</p><p> </p><p>It's his own fault. He and Miller have a weekly facetime date – they started that in the very first week of lockdown. So here he is, at eleven on a Friday morning, sitting at the dining table and chatting to his good friend. His best friend who is not Clarke, in fact.</p><p> </p><p>Meanwhile, in the back of shot, laundry hangs on a rack. Bellamy thinks nothing of it. He's been mixing Clarke's laundry together with his own for years. Miller has seen their shared laundry before.</p><p> </p><p>But today there is some rather <em> interesting </em> shared laundry there. Bellamy doesn't even notice until Miller cries out, pointing.</p><p> </p><p>“What the hell is that?”</p><p> </p><p>Bellamy frowns. “What?”</p><p> </p><p>“When you turned to the left then, there's something over your right shoulder. There.”</p><p> </p><p>Bellamy turns to look. Oh, right. <em> That</em>.</p><p> </p><p>“I guess that's a bra.” Bellamy says, carefully casual.</p><p> </p><p>“A bra? A <em> bra</em>? That's not just a bra, man. That's – that's – it's <em> red</em>.” Miller concludes, apparently totally bamboozled.</p><p> </p><p>“Yep. You're definitely not into women, my friend.” Bellamy deadpans.</p><p> </p><p>“Moving back to the point.” Miller persists. “Are those panties next to it? What the hell is Clarke wearing that for in the middle of a lockdown?”</p><p> </p><p>Bellamy frowns, tries for a firm tone. “She can wear whatever the hell she wants. It's no one's business.”</p><p> </p><p>“Is it see through? It looks pretty see through.”</p><p> </p><p>“It's quite see through.” Bellamy agrees. Just because it is, not because he's a creep. Is it weird to be discussing his best-friend-with-benefits' lingerie with his other closest friend?</p><p> </p><p>Yes. Yes it <em> is </em> weird.</p><p> </p><p>“How do you know it's see through?” Miller tries now.</p><p> </p><p>“You just said it was.” Bellamy protests. “You can't -”</p><p> </p><p>“Bellamy -”</p><p> </p><p>“I don't know what you're -”</p><p> </p><p>“Bellamy -”</p><p> </p><p>“We're sleeping together.”</p><p> </p><p>Silence falls, tense and heavy. Miller is grinning so broad Bellamy thinks his camera might be about to break or something. There's a lot of flashing white teeth going on there.</p><p> </p><p>“You're sleeping together.” Miller echoes.</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah. But it's not a big deal. It's just practical, you know? Just while the lockdown lasts. It doesn't mean anything to her. We're just helping each other out.”</p><p> </p><p>“It doesn't mean anything to her, but she's dressing up for it anyway?”</p><p> </p><p>Bellamy swallows tightly. “Is it really <em> dressing up</em>? It's just a bra and panties, right? Is that dressing up? Does it mean something?” He's not sure when he stopped fleeing this conversation and instead started desperately begging his friend to help him understand the situation, but it seems to have happened.</p><p> </p><p>Miller shrugs. “I don't know. You're asking the wrong guy. How should I know?”</p><p> </p><p>“She started wearing lacy shit about a week ago, maybe? I don't know why. Do you think there's a reason? Or does she just like nice underwear?”</p><p> </p><p>“Bellamy. Out of the two of us, trust me when I say you are <em> far </em> more likely to know what logic Clarke chooses her underwear on.”</p><p> </p><p>He sighs, lets his forehead fall into his hands. He really wishes that were true.</p><p> </p><p>…....</p><p> </p><p>He asks her about it that night. Or – something like it. He doesn't ask her whether she's deliberately dressing up, or whether she just likes nice matching sets that happen to be see through, or whether it's none of his business. He starts with something simpler.</p><p> </p><p>“Cute panties. You pick these to wear for a reason?” He asks, tugging flimsy sky-blue mesh aside to get his face on her pussy.</p><p> </p><p>“Thought they wouldn't get in your way too much.” She tells him, poker-faced.</p><p> </p><p>He laughs, tugs a little more at the material to punctuate his point. “You were right there. Do they even count as panties when they're this tiny?”</p><p> </p><p>She shrugs. “I don't know. I just – I like these ones. I thought they looked cute.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, you look good in them.” He says easily. That's the kind of compliment that must be allowed, right, when they're literally in bed together?</p><p> </p><p>Apparently not. She flushes bright red, all the way down to her chest.</p><p> </p><p>Ah. Right. Best not embarrass her like that in future, then.</p><p> </p><p>…....</p><p> </p><p>The next time Clarke has a day off, Bellamy has a plan. He's going to invite her to go on a walk or a jog with him, depending on what she's feeling in the mood for. That will serve as a break from his new workout routine, this morning. Then they're going to spend the day sleeping together and eating together and watching TV together, and it's going to be lovely. It's going to be a little bit like being in an actual relationship – they have got much better, these last couple of weeks, at acting like they're sleeping together outside of the bedroom as well as inside, and Bellamy loves it.</p><p> </p><p>Clarke has a plan of her own, it seems. She has a plan to ruin <em> his </em> plan, at least.</p><p> </p><p>He walks out of his room at about his normal time. Clarke is already sitting at the kitchen table, a plate of muffins in the centre of it, and her laptop open before her.</p><p> </p><p>“Have a muffin.” She says. “Do we need anything from the sex store?”</p><p> </p><p>He chokes on thin air. He's fairly certain those are two topics that do not belong in the same conversation.</p><p> </p><p>“What?” He tries asking. Did he mishear?</p><p> </p><p>“Have a muffin. I baked muffins for breakfast for a treat. And do you want anything from the sex store? We're nearly out of condoms so I'm doing an order.”</p><p> </p><p>“An order from the sex store?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah. If there's anything you need, we should buy it. I want to get free delivery.”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh. Right. I can't think of anything we need. Just the condoms.” He says, cautious. He can think of a thousand things he <em> wants</em>, but not so many that they strictly <em> need</em>.</p><p> </p><p>“OK – anything you <em> want</em>?” She asks, brows raised.</p><p> </p><p>Damn her. Damn her and that ability she has to read his mind.</p><p> </p><p>He tries to pass it off with a laugh. “Dangerous question, Clarke. What are we dealing with, here? Are we talking about a little bottle of flavoured lube? Or is this the time to mention I think you'd look hot in a strap-on?”</p><p> </p><p>“You do?” She asks, sharp.</p><p> </p><p>He shrugs. “Yeah. But that's not the point. You want to maybe get something better to tie your hands with or -?”</p><p> </p><p>“You think I'd look hot in a strap-on?” She reiterates.</p><p> </p><p>He sighs. He should never have mentioned that. He was just mucking about.</p><p> </p><p>Mucking about, and yet entirely serious.</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah. Definitely. But we don't need a strap-on. You just want something fun to make up the free delivery price.” He points out.</p><p> </p><p>“And would you want me to – <em> use </em> the strap on? As in, fuck you with the strap-on?” She asks.</p><p> </p><p>“Why else does anyone wear a strap-on?” He asks, puzzled. This conversation is definitely getting away from him.</p><p> </p><p>“I don't know. I didn't mean – I just – I didn't know you were into that.” She concludes. “I was surprised. It didn't seem like you'd be into it from what we've done together, I guess.”</p><p> </p><p>“I'm into it.” He finds it rather easy to admit that, actually. This is his best friend, and they also sleep together. That makes it pretty comfortable to chat about his sexual preferences. “I know people always think of it as a... <em> power thing</em>? And that angle can be fun I guess. But it's not really why I like it. It just feels good.” He says, shrugging.</p><p> </p><p>“I get that. Maybe it's a silly stereotype but I always presumed you would top the guys you bring home.”</p><p> </p><p>“Sometimes I do, sometimes I don't.”</p><p> </p><p>She nods. She turns back to her laptop. “So do you think we should get a strap-on? I've never worn one before.”</p><p> </p><p>“Not even with Lexa?” He asks, failing to keep the surprise out of his voice. She was with Lexa for a decent while and they did seem to have a lot of sex.</p><p> </p><p>“No. She had one, she wore it. We didn't try a lot of new things, I guess.”</p><p> </p><p>He nods. He stands there, a muffin slightly squished in his hand, and tries to decide what the hell to say. They don't have all the money in the world. Clarke has never worn a strap-on before, and doesn't sound totally thrilled about the idea. And anyway, they're only sleeping together for the duration of lockdown. It's silly to invest in a big toy to use together, just for that period of time. It's likely that this will end within a couple of months.</p><p> </p><p>Well. Now he really doesn't want to eat the muffin.</p><p> </p><p>“Just get something small to make up the postage. Pick something that looks fun. You were saying you like having your hands tied. Or something cute to wear?”</p><p> </p><p>He knows that's the right thing to say. He knows that's the sensible choice. But he's always been rather strongly driven by his emotions, so it's a real struggle to get the words out. This morning has just given him a thoroughly unexpected taster of what it might be like to date Clarke for real, and he's almost dizzy from it.</p><p> </p><p>He tells Clarke he needs to take a shower, and heads out the door, tossing his crushed muffin in the bin as he goes.</p><p> </p><p>…....</p><p> </p><p>The box from the sex store arrives later that week. It's a small box, unremarkable. He doesn't unpack it – he leaves it on Clarke's side of the couch for when she gets home.</p><p> </p><p>She made a very sensible choice on how to make up the postage, it turns out. A simple pair of stockings that she wears that very same night. That's <em> fun</em>, he tells himself firmly. He has a genuinely good time kissing his way along her legs and taking them off her – only after admiring the way the whole ensemble looks while she's bent over before him, of course.</p><p> </p><p>It's sensible, too. They're living in a pandemic, not some fantasy world. This is a small and cheerful purchase that will not break the bank. It's an investment proportionate to the longevity of the relationship, too. This will all be over in a couple of months.</p><p> </p><p>Isn't it truly terrible that he's beginning to wish this pandemic could last forever?</p><p> </p><p>…....</p><p> </p><p>Weeks pass. Bellamy gets better at baking, and his abs don't exactly fade, so he thinks that's a win, on balance. He reads a few books, watches some documentaries, dreams of the day the library will be open again.</p><p> </p><p>And yet even as he's wishing for life to return to normal, he's wishing it won't. He's hoping at least that the public health guidance about not sleeping with anyone outside his own household might endure. It's done him a lot of good, that advice. He's got the best sex life he's ever had.</p><p> </p><p>It's not just that Clarke is <em> Clarke</em>. It's not just that he's hopelessly in love with her, and that it's easy to pretend they're actually together, while she sucks him off on the couch. The sex is also genuinely fantastic in its own right. They have a good thing going, where they like trying new things for a little variety, but they don't feel the need to do anything particularly kinky for the sake of it. That's a pretty fun balance, it turns out.</p><p> </p><p>He's in the kitchen with Clarke when he learns that lockdown is to be lifted. He's kneading dough on the counter while she scrolls through news on her phone.</p><p> </p><p>“They're going to start opening non-essential shops next week.” She tells him.</p><p> </p><p>“That's great. When can I get a haircut?” He asks, shaking his curls over his eyes for effect.</p><p> </p><p>She laughs. “Never. I like it long.”</p><p> </p><p>“You'll be sorry when I can't see where I'm going and I fall and break my neck.”</p><p> </p><p>“Don't joke about that.” She snaps, short.</p><p> </p><p>He swallows. “Sorry. That was tasteless. So go on then – what about gyms?”</p><p> </p><p>“From next month. So I won't get to watch you sweating all over the living room any more.” She teases, eyes bright.</p><p> </p><p>He grins, a little forced. “And when do the sex rules change? How much longer are you going to want me?” He has to say that as a joke. If he doesn't joke about it, he doesn't know how he will ever manage to ask her at all.</p><p> </p><p>Silence falls, thick and heavy. This most excruciating silence he thinks he has ever shared with Clarke – or certainly the worst they have found themselves fighting through in quite some time.</p><p> </p><p>“It doesn't mention that.” She says at length, carefully light. “Funny. Maybe sex rules aren't the priority right now.”</p><p> </p><p>He laughs a forced laugh. “Yeah. Maybe they have some other stuff to figure out first.”</p><p> </p><p>She nods. She goes back to scrolling on her phone, frowning hard. Bellamy goes back to kneading pizza dough, perhaps rather more forcefully than strictly necessary.</p><p> </p><p>…....</p><p> </p><p>He tries quite hard for the next few days. He's not really sure why, not sure what the point is. Clarke isn't going to suddenly roll over and decide she loves him just because he makes a bit of an effort in the fading weeks of lockdown, is she?</p><p> </p><p>All the same, he tries. He can't let this thing that is starting to feel so tantalisingly like an actual relationship slip through his fingers without putting up a fight.</p><p> </p><p>He tries at <em> everything</em>.</p><p> </p><p>He makes chicken in cream sauce, serves it with little trimmed green beans wrapped in pancetta, and Clarke looks at him like he might have lost his mind before kissing him soundly. That's promising, he thinks. They very rarely kiss outside of sex – by which he means, in fact, that they <em> never </em> kiss outside of sex. It's always foreplay of a kind, even if it's very long-drawn-out.</p><p> </p><p>He works out more than ever, determined to be ready to hit the gym when it reopens. He cleans the apartment, even the dark space down the side of the fridge. He reads one of Clarke's favourite books so they can chat about it whilst washing dishes.</p><p> </p><p>He invites her to share a shower with him when they get in from a jog together, and she says yes.</p><p> </p><p>Sometimes he catches himself wondering whether it would be like this, if they were together for real. This tangle of the domestic and the sexy, inextricably tied together. Or would it be better still, with kisses on the couch as well as cuddles? Would they shop at the sex store over breakfast more often? Would they plan romantic holidays together, perhaps?</p><p> </p><p>Those things all sound lovely, but there's something else he knows would be even better. The one thing he's craving most of all.</p><p> </p><p>If they were really together, that would mean she loved him, too.</p><p> </p><p>…....</p><p> </p><p>Bellamy thinks nothing of it when a parcel arrives with Clarke's name on it. Such things happen every so often in a world where mail order has become the sluggishly beating heart of the economy. He simply sets the package on her side of the couch and carries on with today's burst of <em> trying </em> – this morning, he bought a modest bunch of flowers along with the grocery shop and has set them on the kitchen table. They're flowers for the <em> apartment </em> not for Clarke, of course. He's aware that buying her flowers is too overtly romantic to get away with. But he hopes they might brighten her day all the same.</p><p> </p><p>That evening, Clarke arrives home. The two of them sit at the kitchen table together to eat supper. Bellamy made lasagne, and he thinks it turned out OK.</p><p> </p><p>Clarke seems to agree with that. Her plate is mostly empty now. She's eaten quickly, sparing just a few moments to ask whether Bellamy is looking forward to going back to work next week.</p><p> </p><p>She hasn't even <em> mentioned </em> the flowers, and he's growing increasingly despondent about that as the meal goes on.</p><p> </p><p>“How's the lasagne?” He asks now. He's not used to eating in silence with Clarke. He's not used to doing <em> anything </em> in silence with Clarke, in fact.</p><p> </p><p>“It's great. Really good. Thanks so much for making it.” She says. She almost <em> babbles</em>, in fact.</p><p> </p><p>“You're welcome.”</p><p> </p><p>“You've been spoiling me.” She says, light – perhaps a little <em> too </em> light. “I don't know how you're doing it. All this cooking and the apartment looks so good all the time. And the – uh – the flowers are a nice touch.” She offers, cheeks glowing pink.</p><p> </p><p>“You like them? Thought it might make the place look a bit brighter.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah. Much brighter. Flowers for the kitchen table. A lovely idea.”</p><p> </p><p>He takes a risk. “I guess I thought you'd freak out if I actually gave them to <em> you</em>.” He tries.</p><p> </p><p>She smiles hesitantly. “I'm pretty good at not freaking out about you, I like to think. You're <em> you</em>.”</p><p> </p><p>What's that supposed to mean? Is she saying that the rules are different for him? That she has to relate to the rest of the world on her terms, but that it might be OK if he pushed his luck a little? If he were to buy her flowers, or act more overtly romantic, he might not scare her off?</p><p> </p><p>He takes that hope and runs with it. “You want ice cream on the couch after this? Maybe cuddle in front of that documentary about Athens I recorded?”</p><p> </p><p>She smiles brightly around a short laugh. “Ice cream and some heavy petting, sure. I can take or leave the documentary. Greek history isn't my idea of a date night.”</p><p> </p><p>Date night? <em> Date night</em>?</p><p> </p><p>“I think it's more about how the modern city retains historical influences, actually.” He says. Obviously he does. He has absolutely no idea how to handle the idea that this is <em> date night</em>, so he changes the subject. Isn't that the safest way?</p><p> </p><p>Maybe Clarke isn't the only one prone to running from emotional situations, he frets. Maybe that's why he still hasn't managed to entirely fix things with his sister.</p><p> </p><p>Clarke takes his hint. They chat about the documentary for a while, and about the food, and even about flowers. Bellamy bought a kind of assorted bouquet today, and so he fishes with as much subtlety as he can manage for tips about what Clarke might prefer in future. Sunflowers are a popular choice with her, it seems. He tucks that behind his ear for later. Will they still be sort of together, when it's the right time of year to buy sunflowers?</p><p> </p><p>When their lasagne is eaten, they move to the living room. He turns on the TV while Clarke gets the ice cream open. He turns to head for his seat on the couch, but finds that a familiar parcel is sitting on his place.</p><p> </p><p>“That's for you.” He says. It has her name on it and everything.</p><p> </p><p>“No, it's for you.” She tells him, voice a little tense, he thinks. “Or really – I guess it's for <em> us</em>. But I want you to open it.”</p><p> </p><p>He lifts the parcel, sits down slowly, sets it on his lap. Clarke leaves the ice cream to one side for now as she cuddles up against him.</p><p> </p><p>For the record, it's difficult to open a parcel while his arm is being hugged. That's a habit Clarke really does seem to have decided she enjoys. But he manages, tearing off tape and then ripping into the box.</p><p> </p><p>It's a strap-on. Clarke has brought him – <em> them </em> – a strap-on.</p><p> </p><p>More specifically, it seems like quite a good, robust one. The kind of thing a person would buy if they were serious about getting a lot of use out of it – <em> long term </em> use, perhaps. It's a harness with broad straps, and a separate dildo in a slim box.</p><p> </p><p>“I didn't know how big of a cock you wanted me to have. I hope that's about right.” She says, carefully light.</p><p> </p><p>He clears his throat. “Yeah. This is perfect.”</p><p> </p><p>He can't entirely believe it. This is quite an <em> investment</em>, isn't it? You don't buy a strap-on to share with a hookup if things are totally casual. He supposes she could still get some future use out of it with other partners – but she made it quite clear, that morning with the sex store shopping, that it was something she'd never really felt the need to try before.</p><p> </p><p>He can't make sense of the timing, either. Lockdown is coming to an end. Is she expecting that it will be a while longer yet before she can really take home hot strangers from bars? Or dare he hope that this suggests something more lasting about their arrangement?</p><p> </p><p>“So it's OK? I got the right thing?” She presses.</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah. Definitely. Should be a lot of fun.” He tells her. He presses a little kiss to the crown of her head, too. That feels like the right thing to do in this moment.</p><p> </p><p>“Great. We can watch your documentary now. I just wanted to show you that now in case it means you need to do some – uh – <em> prep work </em> before we head to bed tonight.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah. Good call.” He swallows hard. “You're really expecting me to just put this aside and watch a documentary for the next hour?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yep.” She tells him, bright and teasing.</p><p> </p><p>Then it gets worse – or perhaps a thousand times better. Then she reaches up to kiss him full on the lips, hand grasping at his hair. It's a firm kiss, eager and demanding. She's not messing about, heating things up until he's groaning into her mouth and his cock is straining against his clothes.</p><p> </p><p>Then she pulls back, panting slightly, brows arched.</p><p> </p><p>“<em>Now </em> I'm expecting you to put this aside and watch a documentary.” She tells him brightly.</p><p> </p><p>He laughs a strained laugh, but he does as she asks all the same. He understands what she's aiming for, here. She's decided that she's going to tease him tonight, and he's more than happy to get on board with that. So it is that he puts their new toy on the coffee table and settles back into the couch cushions.</p><p> </p><p>For the record, he thinks it's a shame that no surprise visitor is going to knock on the door tonight. In the middle of lockdown, there is no risk of Miller or Raven or anyone else walking into their living room and seeing a strap-on in a box on their coffee table. And some strange part of him thinks that's rather a shame. He feels this instinctive need to show off about his current almost-relationship with Clarke. He's feeling <em> proud</em>, damn it, and he wishes he could tell the world.</p><p> </p><p>He doesn't know how he makes it through the documentary. It's all a bit of a haze, really. He might have to watch this one again tomorrow when Clarke is out at work. His cock doesn't soften beyond half-hard the whole time they're watching together, holding each other, sharing ice cream.</p><p> </p><p>That might be something to do with what lies on the coffee table, taunting him.</p><p> </p><p>He leaps to his feet the moment the credits roll.</p><p> </p><p>“See you in the bedroom in five?” He asks.</p><p> </p><p>“See you in <em> my </em> bedroom in five.” Clarke tells him firmly.</p><p> </p><p>He grins. So that's how this is going to go. A little hint of power play along with his pegging. He can take that – he thinks it might make a fun change from their usual balanced dynamic, or the slight tendency for him to take the lead in bed.</p><p> </p><p>He answers her with a kiss, then goes on his way, half-jogging down the hall.</p><p> </p><p>He makes quick work of cleaning up – he's never managed it so fast in his life, he's pretty sure. But he takes care to do it thoroughly, too. He doesn't want to do anything to put Clarke off her stride this first time. He warms himself up a little, but not very much. It didn't seem like she'd bought herself the biggest cock in the world.</p><p> </p><p>It's only four minutes later that he finds himself outside her bedroom door. But four is more or less five, right? Clarke is the more specific timekeeper out of the two of them.</p><p> </p><p>He knocks softly. “Can I come in?”</p><p> </p><p>“Sure.” She calls. Even in that one word, she sounds pretty confident, he thinks. This is a good start.</p><p> </p><p>He opens the door and his jaw nearly hits the ground. She looks <em> great</em>. She's wearing the strap-on as if she's done it a thousand times before, standing tall and proud. The only slight hint that this is all unfamiliar territory comes from the faintly vulnerable look in her eyes.</p><p> </p><p>“I was right. Sexy as hell.” He offers as he crosses the threshold.</p><p> </p><p>She flashes him a wolfish grin. “Yeah? Am I doing it right?”</p><p> </p><p>He snorts. “You're not doing a whole lot yet, are you? But yeah, you wear it really well.”</p><p> </p><p>She laughs. “It feels weird. How do you deal with having one of these things sticking out all the damn time?”</p><p> </p><p>“Clarke – don't know if you noticed, it isn't always sticking out.” He stage whispers to her.</p><p> </p><p>She grins, walks over to wrap her hand around his cock. “I don't know. It seems to have been hard a lot more often than usual this spring.”</p><p> </p><p>He flushes. She doesn't know the half of it. But then he stops feeling self conscious and simply starts groaning. Clarke is rubbing her hand along his cock, the head of her strap-on nudging against his leg as they stand close together.</p><p> </p><p>“How is this going to work?” She asks him.</p><p> </p><p>He presses a reassuring kiss to her forehead while he gathers his thoughts. “I guess we'll start by making out for a bit as usual. But we don't need to do that forever – I'm already a little wound up.” He admits on a laugh. “After that – whatever you want, I guess. It's up to you how heavily you want to lean into the power play thing.”</p><p> </p><p>She frowns consideringly. “I'm not sure. I did some research. I have a few ideas if you want me to give them a try?”</p><p> </p><p>He smiles against the crown of her hair. Of course she did some research. She probably spent hours reading up on this. He wonders whether her research involved watching any porn, imagining herself and him instead? He feels almost left out that she didn't consult him, honestly.</p><p> </p><p>There's that, and then there's the fact that opening that box was one of the best surprises of his life.</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah. Why don't you try some of your ideas, and we can just talk about it along the way as we need to?”</p><p> </p><p>“Sounds good.”</p><p> </p><p>She gets on with it, then, in the most <em> Clarke </em> of ways. There's another determined, eager kiss, much like the one they shared on the couch earlier. There's her hand still curled around his cock, her cock poking hard against his leg as she draws him closer. He's going wild, here, just from the sheer anticipation of what is to come.</p><p> </p><p>“Get on the bed on your hands and knees.” Clarke whispers to him, when apparently he is hard and hungry to her satisfaction.</p><p> </p><p>He does as she asks. He hovers there, ready and waiting, and is reassured by the way she reaches for the lube bottle, the noise of her squirting plenty of it onto her cock and fingers.</p><p> </p><p>“Can you get your hips lower? You're a lot taller than me.” She points out, laughing at herself a little.</p><p> </p><p>He should have thought of that. He lowers his hips.</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah. That's good.”</p><p> </p><p>She tests him with a finger first, then with two. Even that is enough to have him sighing out loud. It feels so good, and although he knows Clarke is nervous, she is setting out on this adventure with her usual determined pragmatism.</p><p> </p><p>“I can go for it, right?” She pipes up from behind him.</p><p> </p><p>He's more in love with her than ever for that, somehow. The combination of the way she is checking in with him, the way she phrased it so boldly like that rather than as a more fragile question.</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah. I can't wait.” He tells her honestly. “Put it in slow to start with?”</p><p> </p><p>She does as he asks. She takes it gradually, giving him time to adjust to the stretch. It's been a while, but this is a lot easier than he expected. It's not the biggest dildo in the world, perhaps, and he really is very warmed up and ready at this point.</p><p> </p><p>“Feels great. You can start moving.” He phrases it as permission, but really it's a plea.</p><p> </p><p>She understands him. She gets moving, quite small strokes. He's not complaining – he thinks she's doing a great job, for a first try, and it feel incredible. She's got her hands gripping tight to his waist, too, and he thinks that is what is sending him wild more than anything.</p><p> </p><p>He can hear himself moaning, but he figures there is no sense in being embarrassed about that. He and Clarke have been hooking up for a while. Sometimes he gets loud. That's simply how he is with her.</p><p> </p><p>He starts rocking his hips back into her, just a little. Just enough to make the strokes feel slightly longer. That's good, there. He -</p><p> </p><p>“I'm sorry.” Clarke says suddenly, going still. “I'm trying, I really am. But I don't think I can do this.”</p><p> </p><p>He freezes. Can't do <em> this</em>? Can't fuck him, here and now, with this strap-on? Or can't keep sleeping with her best friend and room mate in a more general sense?</p><p> </p><p>“OK. Sure. We don't have to -”</p><p> </p><p>“Can we switch positions? I'm so sorry. I'm just way shorter than you. I'm having to strain to reach and I feel like I can't really fuck you very hard from here. It's just making me feel like I can't do it.” She continues, audibly upset.</p><p> </p><p>He almost laughs from sheer relief. Trust Clarke to blame herself for something that is most definitely not her fault. And trust him to overreact, start worrying that the best thing in his life is over.</p><p> </p><p>What a stupid misunderstanding.</p><p> </p><p>“It's fine, Clarke.” He rocks forward, slipping off the dildo. “More than fine. Don't apologise for being short.” He throws her a smile over his shoulder. “You're doing great and it feels incredible. But we can definitely try a different position. Where do you want me?”</p><p> </p><p>She simply frowns. She doesn't have that confident look in her eyes she had earlier.</p><p> </p><p>Well, then. It appears that he had better help her out, see what he can do to keep her comfortable and build her confidence back up.</p><p> </p><p>“How about you lie on your back and I'll get on top?” He suggests. “That might take some of the pressure off?”</p><p> </p><p>She nods at once. “And we can try something like this again another day?”</p><p> </p><p>“Sure we can.”</p><p> </p><p>That decides it. She's looking more like her confident self again already, as she lies flat on her back on the bed and raises her brows at him expectantly. She looks great, with that demanding smile back on her face and that cock sticking up in the air.</p><p> </p><p>He decides she needs to hear that.</p><p> </p><p>“And again, you really do look sexy in a strap-on.” He tells her lightly.</p><p> </p><p>She grins. “Get on with it.”</p><p> </p><p>He does. Laughing a little, he gets himself in position. He was worried he might have tensed up, there, when he thought for a moment that Clarke was truly unhappy. But he slips into place easily enough and starts fucking himself on Clarke's cock.</p><p> </p><p>He knows what he'll be dreaming of tonight, anyway.</p><p> </p><p>It feels even better like this. He can take longer strokes, for one thing. But most of all he feels much better for knowing <em> Clarke </em> feels better. She's obviously more confident and happy like this.</p><p> </p><p>That becomes even more clear when she reaches out for his cock.</p><p> </p><p>“Can I jerk you off at the same time?” She asks outright.</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah.” He means to add something else – some kind of enthusiastic <em> definitely </em> or a simple <em> I'd love that</em>. But he's not really so up for talking, right now. He's a bit busy trying to remember how to breathe.</p><p> </p><p>She seems to get the picture anyway. Maybe he's not being subtle, with the breathless moans, with the way he's got his hands clutching desperately at her breasts. But this is simply fantastic – not just the sensation, but the whole atmosphere. The fact that he's here with Clarke, that she wants to have new sexual adventures with him, that she looks so damn ecstatic about this shared experience.</p><p> </p><p>She's definitely getting off on this too, he notes. She's moaning a little, her face growing tense. How is that happening? Is it the pressure on her clit from him riding her? Is it the way he's working her breasts? Or is it just that his pleasure noises are driving her wild in turn?</p><p> </p><p>He stops thinking about it. He stops thinking anything much except <em> yes </em> and <em> there </em> and <em> more. </em>His world narrows to Clarke, soft and firm beneath him in exactly the right places, and to her hand wrapped around his cock, too.</p><p> </p><p>He's there. He's spilling all over her breasts, painting her as his. He's watching her eyes light up as he comes, and wondering why that makes him want to weep a little.</p><p> </p><p>He stays put just a moment longer, just seeing his orgasm through to the end. And then he's getting up, sliding off the dildo before he can become painfully tight around it, eager to find out what Clarke needs from him now.</p><p> </p><p>“What can I do for you?” He asks.</p><p> </p><p>“Could I just get your hand? Won't take long.” She tells him on a breathy laugh.</p><p> </p><p>He grins, kisses her firmly. He tugs the harness out of the way far enough to reach her, then starts work with his hand.</p><p> </p><p>She was right. She's teetering on the edge already, soaked through, groaning into his mouth as they kiss. It's hot to say the least – even hotter than the whole strap-on situation, perhaps. He's honestly rather <em> moved </em> by the fact she can get this wound up just by watching him have a good time.</p><p> </p><p>She comes hard, with a noise perhaps half way between a moan and a whine – high-pitched and loud and frankly almost frightening in its intensity.</p><p> </p><p>And then there is silence.</p><p> </p><p>“We should get you cleaned up.” Bellamy suggests, a little apologetic. She got well-covered in come, there, and there's also some stray lube sliding about her thighs.</p><p> </p><p>She grins across at him. “Yeah. Probably. Kind of want to go to sleep like this and wear your come to work tomorrow though.” Then she seems to realise what she's said, and starts blinking fast. “I mean – not in a weird way. I just – it sounded hot.”</p><p> </p><p>He groans. He can't help it. “It does sound hot.” He admits, hoarse. Is it normal for best friends with benefits to talk about such possessive ideas as this?</p><p> </p><p>“Great. Then maybe I won't wash it all off. But you're right – we should get cleaned up anyway.”</p><p> </p><p>With that, the moment breaks. She shuffles out of the loosened harness, puts the lube back on her bedside table. That's his cue to start moving as well, he supposes. They do not usually hang around when they are done.</p><p> </p><p>There's something a little different tonight, though. They find themselves heading to the bathroom at much the same time. Clarke invites him to help her shower off, and he's not about to say no to that. They even brush their teeth side-by-side. And so it is that they both end up clean and dry and standing outside the bathroom at exactly the same moment.</p><p> </p><p>He wonders whether it would be acceptable to give her a goodnight kiss. That's not so over the line, is it? She did talk about wearing his come to work. He thinks probably a chaste kiss is not so remarkable by comparison.</p><p> </p><p>He's just leaning in when Clarke makes the decision. She doesn't make a big deal of it – she simply takes his hand and starts walking towards her room.</p><p> </p><p>He follows. Of course he follows. He's no fool.</p><p> </p><p>She pulls back the sheets for him when they arrive. That's a tender little gesture he wasn't expecting, somehow. Then she climbs in after him and tucks the bedclothes around them both.</p><p> </p><p>Well, then. It seems like they actually sleep together now, as well as <em> sleeping together</em>.</p><p> </p><p>“Thanks, Clarke.” He says simply.</p><p> </p><p>“Thank you.” She bounces back at him.</p><p> </p><p>So that's that. That's how they fall asleep together, holding on tight.</p><p> </p><p>…....</p><p> </p><p>The next day is a Friday. That means a video call with Miller at eleven o'clock sharp. And that, in turn, means an impertinent question about Clarke at eleven-oh-two.</p><p> </p><p>Honestly, Bellamy's a little surprised it took him that long to ask.</p><p> </p><p>“How's the girlfriend?” Miller pipes up.</p><p> </p><p>“Still not my girlfriend.”</p><p> </p><p>“Bellamy. Come on, man. You might not be able to see it's a relationship, but the rest of us can.”</p><p> </p><p>“No, it's not. We're friends with benefits.”</p><p> </p><p>“<em>Best friends </em> with benefits.” Miller counters.</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah.”</p><p> </p><p>“Who live together.” He presses.</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah.”</p><p> </p><p>“And cuddle on the couch together.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah.”</p><p> </p><p>“You realise that <em> is </em> a relationship, Bellamy? What do you think me and Jackson are if not best friends who live together and sleep together and cuddle on the couch?”</p><p> </p><p>Bellamy frowns. He wants to believe it. But he's basically programmed <em> not </em> to believe it. Love doesn't work out for him, he's pretty sure. He's meant to have one night stands, and pitifully poor relationships, and pine for Clarke from afar.</p><p> </p><p>Or pine for her from <em> very close up</em>, as he's been doing these last couple of months.</p><p> </p><p>“I'm going to buy her some sunflowers if we're still sleeping together by the time you can buy sunflowers.” He offers, a propos of nothing. He's sort of hoping Miller might give him a hint as to whether that seems like a good idea.</p><p> </p><p>“That sounds like a plan. She likes sunflowers?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah. I didn't know. I just bought this generic pink bouquet yesterday. But it got us talking about sunflowers.”</p><p> </p><p>“OK, so – to backtrack for a second – she's your best friend and you live together and sleep together <em> and </em> you're buying her flowers.”</p><p> </p><p>He swallows. “Yeah.”</p><p> </p><p>“And she liked the flowers? She was happy about the flowers?”</p><p> </p><p>“I think so, yeah.” He takes a deep breath. “And – uh – she bought us something. A sex toy to use together. So – there's that.”</p><p> </p><p>Miller splutters out a laugh. “Why are we still having this conversation, Bellamy? If she's buying sex toys specifically for your relationship that has to mean she thinks it <em> is </em> a relationship.”</p><p> </p><p>“We're still having this conversation because <em> I don't know what to do</em>.” Bellamy bites out, frustrated and somewhat emotional. “I don't know how to just... <em> date her</em>. I don't know how to make this last. Surely I'm going to screw it up sooner or later? She's <em> Clarke</em>. I can't lose her. I can't scare her off. You know how she is about relationships.” He concludes, almost frantic.</p><p> </p><p>Miller, however, is nodding and smiling a calm smile. “I know. I know, I get it. I just think you should say something to her. Like you say – she's <em> Clarke</em>. I know you think she's a flight risk. But you're the most important person in her life. Even if she finds the idea of a more openly romantic relationship with your frightening, she's not going to just walk out of your life. She cares about you too much to do that.”</p><p> </p><p>Bellamy nods. He thinks that's true. He <em> hopes </em> that's true.</p><p> </p><p>But he still doesn't know how the hell to handle this.</p><p> </p><p>…....</p><p> </p><p>He procrastinates. That's how he handles it. He knows it's not the most sensible approach, but his heart cannot face being disappointed in this, so he avoids the issue altogether.</p><p> </p><p>The gyms reopen. He goes back to work. Life returns not to normal, but to a kind of familiar rhythm once again.</p><p> </p><p>Except that through it all, by some miracle, he still seems to be together with Clarke.</p><p> </p><p>…....</p><p> </p><p>It is Clarke who suggests the picnic. Outdoor socialising is now allowed to some extent, even though there are still limits on indoor gatherings. So it is that she says it might be nice to meet up with Murphy and Emori for a picnic.</p><p> </p><p>Bellamy agrees right away. Of course he does – he's missed social contact, even if he has enjoyed having more contact than ever with Clarke. But he agrees, too, because it sounds a little like a double date. He can pretend, at least, can't he?</p><p> </p><p>He can dream.</p><p> </p><p>He calls Murphy to make the plans.</p><p> </p><p>“Bellamy. Hey. How are you doing?”</p><p> </p><p>“Pretty good – you?”</p><p> </p><p>“Not bad, not bad.”</p><p> </p><p>“Great, so listen. We were wondering whether you want to hang out some time, maybe a picnic in the park? Me, you, Clarke and Emori?”</p><p> </p><p>“Could be good.” Murphy says right away. “Our first double date since you two got together.”</p><p> </p><p>Bellamy splutters out a cough. “We're not together.”</p><p> </p><p>“Sorry – since you started <em> casually hooking up.</em>” Murphy teases.</p><p> </p><p>“How the hell do you know about that? Did Miller tell you?” Bellamy can't believe it. He trusted Miller. But if not him, then who?</p><p> </p><p>Murphy only laughs. “Don't take it out on Miller. Emori told me. Raven told her. And Clarke told Raven.”</p><p> </p><p><em> Clarke told Raven</em>? Clarke actually felt the need to share the shift in their relationship with her friend? Is that a good sign? He's not sure.</p><p> </p><p>“I didn't realise people knew.” Bellamy says quietly.</p><p> </p><p>“Of course we all know. Clarke's over the moon about it, apparently. Won't shut up about it. Raven's sick of it – you know she never thought you were anything special in bed. But Clarke thinks you're <em> very special</em>.” He teases, voice sickeningly sweet.</p><p> </p><p>Bellamy gulps a little. He can't decide how he feels about this. It is good news, surely, that Clarke is raving about their sex life? That she's excited enough to tell her friends?</p><p> </p><p>But he cannot help but feel it is bad news that everyone knows. That means he'll be even more devastated when it's all over, and when all his friends look at him with tired, stale pity.</p><p> </p><p>…....</p><p> </p><p>The picnic is really lovely. He and Clarke hold hands as they walk through the park, cuddle together on a blanket, then kiss in the afternoon sun. Murphy refers to them as <em> the happy couple </em> twice over, and Clarke doesn't bat an eyelid.</p><p> </p><p>That's why Bellamy decides it's time to try having the conversation. Later that night, as they lie curled together in bed – his bed this time, as it happens – he attempts to broach the subject.</p><p> </p><p>“Clarke. There's something I want to say. When the pandemic is over and that sex advice doesn't -”</p><p> </p><p>“Shh, Bellamy. Sleep. I've got an early shift tomorrow.”</p><p> </p><p>That's it. That's his answer, isn't it? That's Clarke telling him in no uncertain terms that she is not interested in talking about a future for them.</p><p> </p><p>Typical. Relationships on no terms but her own.</p><p> </p><p>And yet, pathetically in love with her as he is, he puts up with it and pulls her close in a silent cuddle. Loving Clarke is exhausting, frankly, but he wouldn't change her for the world.</p><p> </p><p>…....</p><p> </p><p>Life starts to become more normal, as the weeks pass by. He's working his usual hours, and Clarke is still as busy as ever. He spends more time in the gym, and they each start meeting up in person once again with their various friends.</p><p> </p><p>They spend less time in the apartment. They still sleep together most nights – even if sometimes they are too tired to do anything more than literally sleep. One night Bellamy even gets back from eating dinner with his sister to find Clarke fast asleep in his bed, wearing one of his T shirts.</p><p> </p><p>It's an interesting moment, that. He cannot make sense of it. A woman who actually <em> shushed </em> him when he tried to talk about the future, and now she's sleeping in his bed, in his clothes?</p><p> </p><p>Maybe she just has a thing for oversized T shirts. And his mattress is better, he thinks. He's tried out Clarke's a lot in the last few months but he prefers his own, as long as she's here with him.</p><p> </p><p>…....</p><p> </p><p>He comes home from work one afternoon to find that Clarke is waiting for him. She's sitting on the couch, in fact, in a sweet little summer dress with red bra straps peeping out. He wonders what's going on with that. It seems an unusual choice, on her part, for a lazy day off. He knows she didn't work today.</p><p> </p><p>“Hey. How was your day?” She asks, hopping to her feet and bouncing over to greet him with a kiss.</p><p> </p><p>“Pretty good. You?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah. Good.” She swallows. “Have you got any plans for the rest of the day?”</p><p> </p><p>He shakes his head. It's not as if his social life has returned to normal, quite yet.</p><p> </p><p>“Great. I was wondering if we could hang out? Just take out and ice cream and then something fun in bed? It feels like it's been a while.” She says, eyes downcast.</p><p> </p><p>He frowns. It hasn't been a while – he got her off in the shower this morning. Unless she means it's been a while since the other stuff. Since their little lockdown routine of food and fun and fucking.</p><p> </p><p>He supposes it has been a couple of weeks since they managed that, now he comes to think about it. They've not had so much overlapping time at home together.</p><p> </p><p>“I'd really like that.” He admits, voice raw.</p><p> </p><p>All at once she's looking up, grinning at him, then leaning in to press a kiss to his lips. “Great. Perfect. I'll order some food and you can choose something to watch? And I checked, we have ice cream. And -”</p><p> </p><p>He cuts her off with a kiss. He doesn't care what they eat or watch or anything of the kind. He only cares that he gets to spend a quiet afternoon and evening with Clarke.</p><p> </p><p>That said, it does turn out pretty perfectly. She spoils him, almost, ordering his favourite foods and letting him watch a historical drama. She seems content to simply burrow into his side and kiss him every so often.</p><p> </p><p>It feels so much like a date it <em> hurts</em>. It hurts with an odd kind of pleasure-pain that has proven rather addictive, since lockdown began.</p><p> </p><p>…....</p><p> </p><p>He's at work when the announcement is made that bars will be reopening next weekend. By Friday night, it will be permitted to go to a bar as long as people sit at tables rather than crowding around the bar itself.</p><p> </p><p>He wonders how that is going to work. Are he and Clarke going to try to wingman each other whilst sitting at the same table? How is anyone supposed to meet someone to take home whilst sitting down with the same people they walked in there with? Or does the sex guidance still apply, so maybe it doesn't matter?</p><p> </p><p>And what does the endgame look like for his almost-relationship with Clarke, anyway? Do they just take a different person each home that first night they can go to a bar, and pretend their four-month almost-relationship never happened? Will there be some horrific break up speech, some negotiation of how to remain friends?</p><p> </p><p>However it works, it will be over. He can see no other interpretation of the way Clarke brushed him aside, that night he tried to talk about it.</p><p> </p><p>He's in a thoroughly bad mood by the time he walks home from work that night. His days playing at being Clarke's boyfriend are numbered. Should he have bought her flowers on the way home while he still can? If it's all over anyway, should he just throw caution to the wind and beg her to stay with him?</p><p> </p><p>No. Better to make this as easy as possible, and stand some chance of keeping her friendship.</p><p> </p><p>He unlocks the door, opens it slowly. It feels heavier than normal, somehow. Maybe that's just his bad mood talking. He tosses his keys into the bowl, looks down the hall.</p><p> </p><p>There are noises coming from Clarke's bedroom.</p><p> </p><p>Huh. Maybe she's already found someone to bring home. But he doesn't think they're quite <em> those </em> kinds of noises – more scuffling than fucking. And she's left her bedroom door wide open, which doesn't seem like something she'd do if she was getting busy.</p><p> </p><p>He goes to investigate.</p><p> </p><p>“Clarke?” He calls, heading for the open door.</p><p> </p><p>More scuffling noises. “Shit, sorry. Didn't hear you come in. I was going to surprise you.” She offers, apologetic.</p><p> </p><p>Wow. She certainly was going to surprise him. She's wearing her strap-on, the dildo bobbing awkwardly before her. But she's also knees-deep in lingerie, with what looks like the entire contents of her underwear drawer strewn about her.</p><p> </p><p>“I was wondering if I could wear something with it. But I couldn't find the right thing. And I didn't think of it until too late. And now – here you are.” She points out, rather unnecessarily.</p><p> </p><p>He gulps. This is not what he expected from the day that the reopening of bars was announced. He did not foresee coming home to the sight of Clarke half way through trying to dress up for him.</p><p> </p><p>“You look great anyway.” He tells her honestly. “Sexy as always.”</p><p> </p><p>“You're only saying that because I'm wearing this.” She teases, jutting her hips towards him.</p><p> </p><p>He laughs, but forces himself to answer her honestly. “No, I'm saying that because it's true. You always look sexy, whatever you're wearing.”</p><p> </p><p>She looks totally flummoxed, for a second or two. She just stands there, staring at him as if she cannot quite believe he's real.</p><p> </p><p>Then she gathers herself to speak. “Thanks, Bellamy. Thank you. Uh – you too. Super sexy. That's why I'm making such a mess of trying to dress up for you.” She offers with a nervous laugh.</p><p> </p><p>He grins, reaches in for a gentle kiss. “You're doing great. Are we doing this <em> now</em>? Want me to go get ready while you put all your panties away?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah. I've been thinking about this all day.”</p><p> </p><p>He can't get those words out of his mind, while he prepares. He cannot stop thinking of it as she fucks into him from behind, a million times more confident than their first attempt. Those are the words he hears echoing through his head while he comes, hard, with Clarke's cock up his ass.</p><p> </p><p><em> I've been thinking about this all day</em>.</p><p> </p><p>What he wouldn't give to hear that she'd been thinking of <em> him </em> all day, instead.</p><p> </p><p>…....</p><p> </p><p>They go to a bar that first Friday with Emori and Murphy. It's an old haunt of theirs, so they easily manage to book a table. It's an odd new system, but Bellamy is more than willing to bear with it. The new normal is worth persevering with, if it will keep this pandemic under control.</p><p> </p><p>They order drinks, facemasks on as they make their orders. Again, it's not something Bellamy is used to, but it's certainly workable. He wonders if he's supposed to meet his hookup for the night wearing a facemask, as well. How is that going to work? What if they get home and it turns out his partner doesn't actually fancy kissing him?</p><p> </p><p>Two drinks in, he forces himself to turn to Clarke and ask the question.</p><p> </p><p>“Do you want to go try to meet anyone? Not sure how that would work. Maybe look for a table with someone cute and an empty chair?”</p><p> </p><p>She turns to him sharply. “No. I'm not going to <em> try to meet anyone</em>. Are <em> you</em>?”</p><p> </p><p>Oh. Well, then. That's quite a prickly response. He was only trying to be a helpful wingman. Does the public health guidance still apply, perhaps? She would know. She's a doctor.</p><p> </p><p>“No. I'm good here.” He says simply.</p><p> </p><p>She nods, face set in firm lines.</p><p> </p><p>He leaves well enough alone for the rest of the evening. He sits there, sipping his drink slowly. Murphy and Emori carry the bulk of the conversation – Clarke is much quieter than he is used to hearing her.</p><p> </p><p>It seems like a long night, even though the place must close at ten. There's another new law, but Bellamy is certainly not complaining about it tonight. At nine-fifty he starts making his excuses. Clarke doesn't seem to object either – she's standing up at his side and making ready to leave without complaint.</p><p> </p><p>He's really not convinced she's enjoyed herself tonight. He's sorry for that. Clarke used to love going out – that's the kind of vibrant and bold personality she is, and the fact that she likes casual sex was only ever part of it. So he thinks it's a shame that she doesn't seem to have had a great time. He hopes that normal life can resume soon, if only because he figures she deserves a bit of a break. It has been a tough time to work in healthcare, and going out is usually her way of letting loose.</p><p> </p><p>“I'm sorry you didn't have a great time tonight.” He tries, as they walk down the street on their way home.</p><p> </p><p>She peeps a look up at him, sober but sad, he thinks. “It's OK. You don't seem to be in the best mood either.”</p><p> </p><p>He shrugs. “I guess not. But it sucks that you didn't get to take anyone different home for a change. I know you've been looking forward to the end of lockdown.”</p><p> </p><p>She stops walking. She stops dead in the middle of the pavement, five minutes from the bar, still ten minutes from home.</p><p> </p><p>“Bellamy, please. Just give it a rest. You must know I wasn't trying to find a hookup.” She tells him, firm yet somehow <em> desperate, </em>he thinks.</p><p> </p><p>He comes to a halt, too, and turns to face her. “Oh, right. Because that public health guidance is still -?”</p><p> </p><p>“No, Bellamy.” She interrupts, voice growing a little louder. “Because I'm in love with you.”</p><p> </p><p>He stands there in silence for a second, stunned, blinking. Did she just say that? There's no way she just said that. It is simply not possible that she just shouted her love at him in the middle of a deserted street.</p><p> </p><p>She presses on, whether he's ready or not. “Loving you is <em> exhausting, </em> frankly.” She tells him now. “You always seem so surprised that anyone cares about you. It's like you don't believe you're worthy of love. But I'm telling you, you're the most <em> lovable </em> person I've ever met.”</p><p> </p><p>“You love me.” He manages to get the words out. They sound strange and almost frightening on his tongue, after all these years.</p><p> </p><p>“Yes.”</p><p> </p><p>“You love me. You mean... <em> romantically</em>?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yes. I get it if you don't feel that way exactly, if that's what all these hints about meeting someone new are about. It's fine. We're best friends before anything else. But I just <em> wish </em> you could see yourself the way I see you. I wish you could see how special you are. You have made me <em> so happy </em> during the most stressful time in my life. These past few months have been an <em> awful </em> time to work in healthcare. But whenever I came home there was <em> you </em> . There was another adventure to have in the bedroom or ice cream on the couch or flowers on the table – and always with a really lovely hug. You're <em> incredible</em>. You've always made the apartment feel like home but since lockdown... I can't tell you how much it means to me.”</p><p> </p><p>He's more stunned than ever. He never even dreamed of hearing her give a speech like that. Even his wildest fantasies tended to consist of <em> wearing her down </em> more than anything, he supposes. Of her settling, deciding to see something beautiful in her best friend.</p><p> </p><p>But here she is talking like he hung the damn stars in the sky.</p><p> </p><p>He's shaking his head and laughing, tears streaming down his cheeks, as he finally manages to get the words out. “I love you so much, Clarke. I have done for <em> years</em>. I never thought you felt the same way.”</p><p> </p><p>“I do. I have done for a while.” She smiles sadly at him. “Guess we wasted a lot of time, huh? I'm sorry. I know that's my fault. I know I'm not good at this stuff.”</p><p> </p><p>“Will you stop apologising for things you never did wrong?” He says mildly, reaching out to hug her. They can kiss again later, he figures, but right now she seems in need of a best friend hug. That was on her list of things she loves about their home, he seems to remember. “You're <em> great </em> at this stuff, even though I know it scares you sometimes. You've been wonderful these last few months. You're out there saving people every day and you still managed to find the energy to sweep me totally off my feet. That day I came home and you'd planned a date evening? Possibly the best day of my life.”</p><p> </p><p>“Now you're just getting competitive.” She teases, somewhere near his left ear.</p><p> </p><p>He laughs. “Weren't we always? But really, Clarke, don't think of it as wasting time. We spent that time building the best friendship. That's why we're so good together now.”</p><p> </p><p>She pulls back to look him in the eyes.</p><p> </p><p>“I didn't think of it like that.”</p><p> </p><p>That's when they kiss. It's possibly a little overdue, Bellamy thinks. Maybe they should have had this first kiss of their official relationship the very second she said the word <em> love</em>. Or maybe this is perfectly right as it is – because really, they shared the first kiss of their relationship four months ago, even though they didn't realise it at the time.</p><p> </p><p>It's Clarke who pulls back first, grinning widely. “Can we go home and cuddle and share ice cream and then fuck in your bed?”</p><p> </p><p>“All that? Don't you have to work tomorrow?”</p><p> </p><p>“Not until the afternoon. Date night starts now.” She insists, squeezing his hand tight.</p><p> </p><p>He's not going to say no to that. He presses a kiss to her cheek, starts walking home with their hands clasped.</p><p> </p><p>They chat as they walk – light bickering about what movie they should watch, a conversation about whether starch is needed to soak up their drinks. Neither of them drank that much, so they decide to give that a miss. It's all very normal and natural, actually. The fact they recently noticed they are in love with each other doesn't feel like an elephant in the room. Their dynamic is exactly the same as usual – only perhaps a little more confident. Bellamy even finds the courage to talk about that evening he tried to discuss with Clarke about what would happen to their relationship at the end of lockdown. He manages to ask her outright why she didn't want to talk about it that night.</p><p> </p><p>The answer? She doesn't remember the conversation at all. She simply remembers being absolutely exhausted, that night, and desperate to get to sleep.</p><p> </p><p>That's typical, Bellamy thinks. He can see it now – it's what she said just a few minutes ago about being unable to believe she might love him. He let his insecurities get the better of him, turned an exhausted mumble pleading for sleep into a crushing rejection. He made a mountain out of a molehill – or perhaps an entire <em> range </em> of mountains.</p><p> </p><p>At least they're on the same page now.</p><p> </p><p>They get home. Bellamy cannot resist scooping Clarke up and carrying her to the couch. Maybe that's silly, but to him it feels like an affectionate echo of the way all this began. He always was in too deep to pretend this was just casual, wasn't he?</p><p> </p><p>Clarke sets up the TV. Bellamy fetches the ice cream. It's a finely honed routine, by now.</p><p> </p><p>Only today, it's a little different. They don't just <em> cuddle </em> in front of the movie. Clarke actually lies down with her head in his lap and snuggles her cheek against his thigh. She doesn't manage to eat much ice cream, from that awkward angle, but she doesn't seem to care.</p><p> </p><p>Bellamy doesn't eat much either, to be honest. He's a little distracted by feeling deliriously happy, joy fizzing urgently in his stomach. And anyway, it's not about the ice cream, is it? Or it's not really about <em> eating </em> the ice cream, this little ritual of theirs. It's about the sharing. The casual intimacy. The domestic sense of being at home together.</p><p> </p><p>“What should we tell everyone?” Clarke asks suddenly.</p><p> </p><p>Bellamy laughs a little. “I don't think we need to tell them anything. I think they have it figured out already. Miller definitely got there before I did.”</p><p> </p><p>She giggles. “Yeah. Raven too. We're hopeless, huh?”</p><p> </p><p>“Hopeless <em> romantics</em>.” He corrects her. “Sounds better that way.”</p><p> </p><p>She snorts, pats him on the leg.</p><p> </p><p>“I'll probably just tell Miller he was right and we've talked it over and we're together. That OK?”</p><p> </p><p>“Perfect. I'll tell Raven the same thing. She'll tell Emori and Monty so everyone will find it out from there.”</p><p> </p><p>“Great.”</p><p> </p><p>A beat of silence.</p><p> </p><p>“So this is real, then?” It's Bellamy who asks it. He just has to be sure.</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah. Real and serious. We're going to last.” Clarke says, as if that's just obvious.</p><p> </p><p>He's blown away by her certainty on that point. This is <em> Clarke</em>. Clarke who runs from relationships, who fears her feelings, who has more emotional baggage than you can shake a stick at. And yet she's utterly confident that they have a serious future together?</p><p> </p><p>“I like the sound of that.”</p><p> </p><p>They watch TV a little longer, just enjoying the moment. This spring with Clarke has taught Bellamy that a quiet life does not have to be a boring life. That staying home can be an adventure in its own right, as long as he's genuinely excited about the company.</p><p> </p><p>It is Clarke who asks it – but not out of the blue, this time. Rather is is just a normal part of the rhythm of their lives, these days.</p><p> </p><p>“You want to pause this here and head to the bedroom?” She asks brightly.</p><p> </p><p>He smiles down at her. “Sounds like a plan.”</p><p> </p><p>That decides it. That has her reaching for the remote, turning off the TV, and getting to her feet. Then she's taking his hand and stretching up for a kiss.</p><p> </p><p>“You could carry me.” She says pointedly.</p><p> </p><p>“I already carried you in here tonight.”</p><p> </p><p>“Come on. You could carry me <em> again</em>.” She wheedles, squeezing his arm muscles a little.</p><p> </p><p>Well, then. He can take that hint. Laughing loudly he scoops her up. It feels even better, now, to have her clinging to him so tightly. Now that he knows she never wants to let go, now that he has heard her say out loud in actual words that she's hopelessly in love with him.</p><p> </p><p>He carries her to bed, starts stripping her naked. He takes his time with it, following the path of his hands with soft kisses. She matches him, tugging his shirt over his head then kissing his chest and shoulders and neck. It feels perfect, the balance just right between eagerness and peacefulness.</p><p> </p><p>When she is naked, he scoots down the bed. He knows the drill. If she wants a simple bedtime comfort-screw a little oral is in order first.</p><p> </p><p>“No. Not tonight.” She whispers, clutching at his hair as he tries to move away.</p><p> </p><p>“What?”</p><p> </p><p>“You're not going to need to do that. I'm already more than ready. And – I just want to hold you.” She tells him, voice raw. “I want your cock, but I want you in my arms as well. I want to be able to whisper sappy stuff about love while we're fucking.”</p><p> </p><p>He can feel his smile splitting his cheeks. He never thought he would hear Clarke talk like that, as if she wants to make those little romantic gestures for him. He feels honoured, really.</p><p> </p><p>“I want that too.” He tells her honestly. He loves giving oral and all, but he loves kissing Clarke more.</p><p> </p><p>He gets a condom on, gets himself hovering over her. He supposes maybe they could quit the condoms, one of these days, if this is a long term thing and all. They could go get tested together and chat about contraception together, and one day chat about <em> babies </em> together.</p><p> </p><p>He doesn't think that's too far to dream, when his best friend has gone and fallen in love with him by some utter miracle.</p><p> </p><p>But today is not that day. Today he eases his cock inside of her, starts rocking his hips slowly. All the while he kisses her deeply, tangling his hands in her hair where he rests on his arms by her head.</p><p> </p><p>They've been going a few minutes when she starts slapping lightly at his butt. That's one thing about their sex life that has not changed since they first started trying this – the way they bring the playful bickering into bed with them.</p><p> </p><p>“Come on. I know you can go harder than that.” She jokes in a whisper against his cheek.</p><p> </p><p>He laughs. “I can. But I don't <em> want </em> to. We're going to make this one slow and soft and romantic because you love me.” He reminds her, somewhere between proud and teasing.</p><p> </p><p>“I do love you. But I also love getting off.”</p><p> </p><p>“Relax. Take your time.” He tells her.</p><p> </p><p>She makes a sort of snorting sound. He wonders whether he's pushing it a bit, here, and whether he ought to do what she asks to some extent. Compromise and enthusiastic consent are both important things, and if she's really not enjoying this, he doesn't want it to feel like a <em> chore</em>.</p><p> </p><p>But then, to his surprise, she hugs him a little tighter.</p><p> </p><p>“Thank you.” She tells him.</p><p> </p><p>“What for?”</p><p> </p><p>“For reminding me to relax. You're right. You're not going anywhere. I don't have to worry about wasting your time any more, or making the most of every second we have together. You're staying with me.”</p><p> </p><p>“For as long as you'll have me.” He confirms, punctuating his words with a firm kiss.</p><p> </p><p>She sighs a contented sigh, starts pressing soft kisses along the length of his collarbone. He keeps rocking his hips, firm but slow, drawing out every stroke as long as possible.</p><p> </p><p>“I love you.” She reminds him quietly.</p><p> </p><p>“I love you.” He echoes.</p><p> </p><p>They've said that more than once, tonight, but he just cannot resist the urge to keep repeating it. He wonders whether he'll ever get bored of saying the words.</p><p> </p><p>Even as he moves slowly, things get heated, little by little, one stroke at a time. He knows he's not going to last forever – the tension he was feeling earlier, worrying about Clarke leaving him for some stranger, coupled with the relief of making their relationship more solid and official, is a dangerous combination. He's feeling really emotional, and that always makes sex more intense in his experience.</p><p> </p><p>He finds himself burying his face in her hair, right next to her cheek. The soft safe space he always used to seek out when hugging her.</p><p> </p><p>“I'm so happy we're doing this.” He admits, voice shaking with arousal and with the beginning of happy tears too, perhaps.</p><p> </p><p>“Me too. You have no idea.” She huffs out a breathless laugh. “We have so much to talk about. Can we go away together when the pandemic is over? Do we want to buy a place rather than renting this forever? Should we -”</p><p> </p><p>“Clarke. Relax. Those things can wait.”</p><p> </p><p>Another breathless laugh. She takes his point, and his lips, too. She turns her head to catch him in a sloppy, eager kiss.</p><p> </p><p>Yes. That's where they're at, now. Breathless panting, urgent kisses. The slow but sure build of an orgasm uncurling itself low in his core.</p><p> </p><p>He wants Clarke to get there first. He wants her to stop planning their future together and live in the moment. He's delighted that she thinks they have a future, of course. He just thinks that those conversations belong more to snuggling after sex, than this exact time and place.</p><p> </p><p>He does what he can to help, kissing her firmly, fondling her breasts. He wonders whether she needs a hand on her clit today, too, or whether she's good like this.</p><p> </p><p>“So good.” She murmurs, pulling away from the kiss to rest her cheek against his for a moment. “Perfect.”</p><p> </p><p>Well, then. Doesn't seem like she needs a helping hand.</p><p> </p><p>He's almost surprised when she comes. She's not breathing as heavily as she normally does. But she's moaning louder than ever, until suddenly she's not moaning <em> at all</em>. She's absolutely silent, and her lips go still beneath his as she clenches around his cock.</p><p> </p><p>Then she's coming down the other side with a long, loud sigh.</p><p> </p><p>He doesn't hold back after that. It's a matter of maybe twenty more seconds, a few firm thrusts. But then he's there, falling apart so thoroughly he's not sure he'll ever find all the pieces of himself again.</p><p> </p><p>Maybe there's some truth to that. Maybe Clarke's going to be keeping hold of his heart.</p><p> </p><p>They lie there for a long moment, simply holding each other tight, trading lazy kisses. But at last Bellamy pulls back to speak.</p><p> </p><p>“You good? Shall we get some sleep now?”</p><p> </p><p>She pouts. “That was incredible. Even better than usual. I kind of want to go again.”</p><p> </p><p>“Maybe in the morning?” He suggests. “Loving you is exhausting, frankly.”</p><p> </p><p>She laughs a joyful laugh. “And again, not everything is a competition. Shall we just agree we're both hard work sometimes and leave it at that?”</p><p> </p><p>He grins. He's waited years to hear her say something like that, honestly. To laughingly accept those imperfections she always seems so insecure about – after all, he learned to love her as she is a long time ago. And he knows he has work to do in that department too. He fears it might be decades, at this rate, before he stops feeling taken by surprise every time he remembers she loves him.</p><p> </p><p>It's a good surprise, he decides, tired and happy as he holds her close.</p><p> </p><p>It's going to be like opening an unexpected gift every single morning for as long as he lives.</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thanks for reading!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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